


Storm's Already Here

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Baseball, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:29:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: (If it was one for one, this for baseball in a vacuum, he wouldn’t even start his second thoughts just to cut them off.)





	Storm's Already Here

**Author's Note:**

> (see collection page for more about the au itself)
> 
> prompt: baseball aomido + storm preparations
> 
> i seized on a couple of lines from ['addison and sheffield'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10839204) plus a couple of other things val & i have been kicking around for probably weeks now?? & seeing this prompt was......the perfect storm for putting them all together

It’s an oddly warm day for January, moisture settling in the air with all the heavy confidence of mid-June, and nearly all of the heat. All the windows are open in the library, but Aomine’s pretty much the only one in there other than the staff and the unluckiest members of Touou’s library committee. It’s impossible to concentrate on a day like today; he should be hiding away in the air conditioning in his room right now or finding some other way of cooling off. Actually, he shouldn’t; he shouldn’t be doing much of anything other than studying with so few weeks left to the deadline. Graduating early sometimes seems like the worst decision he’s ever made, for about five seconds until he thinks about the context again.

He’s doing it for baseball; in a month he’s going to be in Arizona for spring training with a real major league team, fighting for a roster spot against people twice his age with years of professional experience. He’s going to be facing the toughest competition in the world, playing in the best league in the world, for the better part of the next year. He’s already worked his ass off bringing himself to that point, sure, but a few extra weeks of cramming (when he’s spent most of high school neglecting his studies as much as he could get away with) are a small price to pay.

(If it was one for one, this for baseball in a vacuum, he wouldn’t even start his second thoughts just to cut them off.)

Aomine wipes at the sweat on his forehead with his rolled-up uniform sleeve; the heat makes it even harder to concentrate on the page of math problems in front of him. Only ten more to go, but they’re the ten most complex, and doing simpler ones isn’t as much of a good warmup as those math nerd types make it out to be. He scribbles numbers and symbols, factors and crosses it out when it turns out wrong. He doodles a left-hand batting glove in the margin and erases it, tells himself to focus and lets out a loud sigh of frustration, stretching his arms forward. The librarian doesn’t even have the heart to glare at him, and Aomine wipes his forehead again. Eight more and he can go back to his room, to Midorima. That’s an immediate goal worth working toward.

It gets him through, at least, slower than he’d like; but he checks each problem, and they all seem to be right. Fucking finally. Aomine stuffs his notebook back into his schoolbag and shoulders it, scraping the chair in behind him. The walk back to the dorm is disgusting, and he’s unbuttoned his shirt halfway by the time he reaches the main door (there’s no one on the way to get mad, so whatever). He twists the key in the lock of his room and pushes it open, frowning at the darkness inside. The blinds are shut and all of the lights are off; Midorima can’t have been back from practice that long. Aomine checks his phone; it’s still pretty early.

Quietly, he takes off his shoes and socks, tiptoeing past the bed. He can see it properly in the slants of outside light that cut through the area between the curtain and the wall; Midorima’s asleep. He still looks tired, deep circles under his eyes, his posture a little rigid even for him. And if he’s asleep this early, that’s never good. Either he’s had a completely horrible day and just wants to hide from the world, or the weight of everything—being captain and being ace, schoolwork ramping up, Aomine’s own imminent departure—is bearing down and exhausting him. Neither of them is fun to think about; either way Aomine should have been here, to shoulder some of that burden and make things better as best he could. He might as well already be gone if it’s going to unfold like this, if he can’t even offer Midorima any support. He sighs, softly (the sound is lost in the hum of the air conditioner), running a hand through his hair. He wants to smooth out Midorima’s hair or kiss his forehead, or ideally crawl into bed next to him and cuddle him but he doesn’t want to wake Midorima up. He needs rest. He needs Aomine too, but not if Aomine’s going to get in the way, and not too little too late. Aomine unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way, shucking it and placing it on the back of his chair. He’s about to deal with his pants when he hears Midorima shift.

“I’m awake; you can turn on the light.”

Midorima’s voice is cracked and tired, stretched thin like the strap on an old bat bag, nearly torn off.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t wake me up.”

It’s a stupid like, but the kind Midorima’s been giving him lately, cutting things off—he won’t admit that he’s still mad at Aomine for leaving, but he can’t let go, and, well. Aomine can’t judge him harshly for that, really; as much as he wants them to concentrate good things, good feelings, good memories, into what they have left, before everything changes, the fact is he’s leaving. He’s leaving Midorima to deal with the weight of all of this alone—not that he can’t handle it, but he shouldn’t have to (Aomine himself had never really handled just being the ace that well when he hadn’t had Midorima to help, to share some of that whether he knew he was doing it or not). Everything has changed already; the storm’s already here.

Aomine sits down on the bottom bunk; Midorima’s squinting up at him and Aomine doubts he can see much like this. He fumbles for his glasses, and Aomine waits until he has them on.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

(Aomine’s asked Midorima so many times, when Midorima was fifteen and homesick and scared, when he’d been struggling to grasp onto being the ace, days he’d pushed himself too hard or when everything had seemed to encroach on him. He’s never been so afraid of the answer.)

“Okay,” says Midorima, and Aomine feels himself relax slightly.

Midorima shifts again, attempting to sit up. Aomine scoots over to give him more room, and Midorima shakes the blanket off and pushes himself into a sitting position. His hand rests on the edge of the bed, right next to Aomine’s. Aomine scoots closer, letting their hands touch for just a second before he lifts his arm up to Midorima’s shoulder and shit, there’s so much tension in him Aomine’s not really sure where to start. But anywhere has to help.

Midorima leans into his touch; Aomine presses at the knots under his skin. Midorima takes a breath, like he’s about to say something, and then sighs when Aomine presses at a particularly tender spot on his shoulder.

“Cancer was ranked twelfth, so I should have known it would have gone badly today,” says Midorima. “I prepared my lucky item as usual.”

That would be the large Gudetama plushie resting next to the pillow, then.

“I still dropped my English homework in a puddle. I got a bad grade on last week’s science test, and I studied the wrong material for history. I forgot my lunchbox and my wallet at lunch, and…practice.”

Aomine drops his hand; Midorima makes a surprised noise and then Aomine reaches under his shirt to rub at Midorima’s bare skin. Midorima’s closed his eyes, arching his back.

“I just couldn’t concentrate, and I couldn’t throw a curveball, even though it was just light throwing. And I didn’t have time to seriously correct myself, because I had to help out with routines and watch scouting videos, and—I know, it’s my job as captain, but I couldn’t really concentrate on either or do either well, and. I couldn’t. And—”

His voice breaks off; his eyes are screwed shut. Aomine waits, still rubbing at the tension between Midorima’s shoulders. Midorima finally blinks, looking into Aomine’s eyes and Aomine feels like he’s been cracked in two.

“And you weren’t here,” Midorima finishes. “And you’re not going to be, and I can’t keep relying on you for this.”

It hurts, and Midorima knows it does, but Aomine doesn’t flinch. It’s what Midorima’s needed to say, needed to get out instead of pushing Aomine back (and that had hurt more). It’s awkward as hell given their positioning, but Aomine reaches over and folds Midorima into an embrace. Midorima clings to him, tighter than a fastball that nearly grazes Aomine’s chin, and Aomine clings back. He doesn’t want to leave; it’s exciting but he’s mostly fucking terrified of doing this all alone, of leaving Midorima across a fucking ocean, of not having Midorima and all of his steadiness to cling to, a stubborn buoy in the storms of the world reminding Aomine to button up his uniform and take a break from goofing off to study at least once in a while, catching up to him but all the while never letting him wait.

“I’m scared,” Aomine says (and it’s something he should have told Midorima a long time ago).

“Me, too,” Midorima whispers.

But for now they’re scared together, and for now that’s enough.


End file.
